When Olivia heard the knock again, a surge of irritation flared through her. Her stomach tightened, her fingers curling into fists. If it was her father, she would slam the door in his face and shove that wretched bag right back at him. Did he truly believe that whatever lay inside would be enough to earn her trust? That it would lure her back home? Or worse, that it would make her turn against Devon? He had another thing coming. If he thought she was stupid, he was about to be very, very surprised.
She stalked to the door, her breath tight in her chest, fury simmering beneath her skin. But when she flung it open, her anger wavered, confusion slipping in its place. It wasn't her father. It was Mila.
The slightly taller woman stood before her, a cane in hand, her gaze distant, unfocused—staring past Olivia rather than at her. For a moment, Olivia wondered if Mila could see her.
